If the Zombies Don't Kill Us
by madsthenerdygirl
Summary: As if a demon-started zombie apocalypse weren't enough, we have to put up with these weirdos. Superwholock - yup, you read that right. ON HAITUS for now but will eventually be finished. Thanks for your patience!
1. Chapter 1

**Title: If the Zombies Don't Kill Us…**

**Rating: It's zombies, people. I got creative.**

**Summary: As if a demon-started zombie apocalypse weren't enough, we have to put up with these weirdos.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, and definitely not mine.**

**Author's Note: I saw a picture on Facebook showing a "Dream Zombie Team" which consisted of:**

**Team Leader: 10th Doctor (David Tennent)**

**The Brains: Sherlock Holmes**

**The Medic: John Watson**

**The Brawler: Dean Winchester**

**Weapons Expert: Sam Winchester**

**Speed Fighter/Scout: Castiel**

**First to Die: Justin Bieber**

**Team Mascot: Platypus**

**I drooled a little, plot bunnies were born, and the next thing I knew this was written. This is definite crack. I'm not sorry.**

Piccadilly Circus was, at the best of times, bursting with people. They sat all over the massive statue in the center, crowded into the theatres and shops on the corners, and poured in and out of the tube station.

Add in a massive horde of flesh-eating zombies, and you had complete and utter pandemonium.

Given the highly chaotic (and crowded) situation, it was understandable that no one noticed – or gave any thought to – the three men who suddenly appeared right next to the statue. One of them, with bowlegs and deep green eyes, looked like he was about to throw up. The second was taller, with hair that was almost too long to be masculine, and taking in the situation with wide, startled eyes and a slack jaw. The third was sporting a long tan trenchcoat and had his arm on the first man's shoulder in a supportive manner.

"You're lucky a boat would've taken too long." Dean Winchester grumbled, rubbing his forehead. "I fucking hate it when you zap us."

"My apologies." Castiel replied dryly. The angel looked up, assessing the situation. "I see that the curse has already afflicted this nation."

"That's kind of the point of a worldwide curse, Cas. It hits _worldwide_." Dean explained sarcastically.

"Uh, guys?" Sam Winchester said, still looking around them. "Stop me if I'm wrong but I don't think we're in the Scottish Highlands."

The other hunter and the angel took in their surroundings for the first time since arriving. Dean turned to Castiel with raised eyebrows.

"It appears I should apologize again." Castiel said slowly. "We appear to have landed in the center of London."

"Smack dab in the center?" Dean said slowly.

"I wouldn't say the exact center but in the main part of the city, yes." Castiel replied calmly.

Dean blinked and shook his head a little. "Cas… we said 'Scottish Highlands'. That's where Crowley went. How the fuck does that translate to you zapping us to London!?"

"I'm not sure…" Castiel said slowly, his forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.

"Just how many hundreds of miles of difference are there?" Dean demanded.

"I hate to break up the lovefest here, guys, but I think we have a problem." Sam said.

Dean would have asked what kind of problem, exactly, but it when there are a hundred or so zombies shuffling towards you it's kind of obvious what the problem is.

"This way!"

All three swung around to find the source of the sharp, commanding voice. A tall, gaunt man with exceptionally sharp cheekbones and a mop of thick, dark curling hair was gesturing at them to follow him. At his side was a much shorter, sandy-haired man with a look of disbelief on his face.

"Sherlock!" The shorter man hissed. "We can't afford to pick up stragglers…"

"They appeared out of thin air, John." The consulting detective replied with perfect calm.

"Lovely. Maybe they can pull a disappearing act as well, get us out of here." Watson shot back.

"This way!" Sherlock yelled again, waving at the hunters and the angel.

"I think we better do as he says." Sam suggested. "He at least seems to know where he's going."

"As long as he gets us out of this mess, I'm happy." Dean muttered.

The three ran, dodging frantic pedestrians, to catch up with the two British gentlemen.

"Excellent. Follow me." Sherlock turned and started off.

"Nice to meet you too." Dean grumbled.

"Dr. John Watson, and that's my flatmate Sherlock Holmes. He's a detective. We're heading to a safehouse and apparently Sherlock wants you to come with."

"I'm Dean, that's my brother Sam, and this…" Dean put an arm on Castiel's shoulder, his lips twitching. "Is Cas."

"Castiel." The angel corrected.

Watson nodded. "Great. We'd better get going. Any of you have weapons?"

Dean and Sam replied, "Yes", just as Castiel said, "I do not require them."

"Right then." Watson said, puzzled. "Let's go."

The four of them took off after the rapidly vanishing Sherlock.

* * *

"It appears as if we've arrived during a great emergency." The Doctor observed, frowning in puzzlement.

"I'd say that's an understatement. What's going on?" Rose wondered, gazing around her in confusion.

"Let's check it out!" The Doctor said enthusiastically, bounding off.

"Wha– wait! Where are you–?" Rose sighed. "Doctor!" She hurried to follow her companion through the crowded streets, fighting against the flow of the crowd.

"Strange… they all seem to be running away from something…" The Doctor paused. "Rose? Do you hear a strange sound?"

"Depends on what you mean by strange." Rose panted.

The Doctor cocked his head, listening intently. "It almost sounds like a gigantic chorus of moaning…"

And then they saw it. A wave of corpses, their flesh rotting and peeling, limbs broken and skin torn but with no sign of blood, congealed or otherwise. Those that had eyes stared straight ahead, while others had empty, gaping sockets. Their mouths hung open, from which emanated the horrendous, continuous moaning.

Rose instinctively gripped the Doctor's arm. "Are… are those…?"

"Yes, I do believe those are zombies." The Doctor replied. "While I'm all for originality I think it's best if we were to follow the crowd on this one."

"I'm with you."

They took off, scrambling to escape, swept along with the mass of panicked citizens.

**I wish that I could do more than two shows with a crossover, but alas, our poor Doctor gets the short end of the stick. (As does Sammy, kind of, since he's not listed as a character.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Did you know this combination of fandoms has a name? It's Superwholock. I think it's a rather epic name, don't you?**

Dashing through the back alleys of London was second nature for Sherlock, but he often forgot that it might not be such a habit for his companions. John had learned to put up with it but the one bowlegged American was complaining none too quietly.

Sherlock wondered if John would be angry if the man "accidentally" got lost in the crowd. Probably. John was compassionate that way. Bother.

"Why are we even following these people?" Sherlock heard the complainer hiss.

"Because they know how to get out of this horde, Dean." The gravel-voiced man replied. "And while the infection will not affect me, I rather prefer that you and Sam stay alive."

"Gee, thanks, Cas." Dean snorted.

"Why doesn't it?" John asked.

"What doesn't it what?" Dean asked.

"Why doesn't the infection affect Cas…" Sherlock looked back as John trailed off, and was just in time to catch the murderous glare Dean sent the doctor's way. "Tiel. Why doesn't the infection affect Castiel?"

"Because I am an angel of the Lord." Castiel replied before Dean could clap a hand over his mouth. And he did try to – Sherlock saw the man's hand twitch upwards towards the angel's mouth.

Sherlock quickly surmised that Dean was the only person allowed to address the angel – Castiel – by the nickname of "Cas", with the possible exception of Sam. It didn't matter, as Sherlock had no intention of assigning nicknames to anyone, but he filed away the information. It might come in handy later on. As for the "angel of the Lord" bit… he wasn't entirely certain that there was a God, but John certainly believed in Him. John thought Sherlock didn't know about the Bible in the man's top dresser drawer.

Silly. Sherlock knew every article of the flat by heart, especially those pertaining to John. The question was, would John believe these angelic claims?

"Right." John said, nodding. Sherlock knew that nod. It was Nod #35 (he categorized John's facial expressions and movements in order to better remember them). Nod #35 meant that John was humoring someone (usually Sherlock).

"Can we get a move on?" Dean said, shifting from foot to foot (uncomfortable with subjects dealing with Castiel "Cas" – interesting note, must observe interactions between the two).

"Dean is right." Sherlock announced. "We must get a move on or Mycroft will leave without us."

"What?" John spluttered. "Mycroft wouldn't leave without us."

"You are forever underestimating my brother's cold-heartedness." Sherlock reminded him. John had such faith in people, even when they didn't deserve it – unless their name started with "Jim" and ended with "Moriarty".

"I think you both overestimate each other." John grumbled, but he obediently broke out into a jog, the others following suit.

"What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?" Sherlock heard Dean mutter – most likely to Castiel.

"A zombie apocalypse, Dean. I thought you were aware of that."

"Cas… I love you man, but sometimes I really want to just punch you."

"If you two don't shut up I'll punch _both_ of you." Sam, the third American who had so far been silent, threatened darkly.

Both Castiel and Dean were quiet after that, but Sherlock could still feel the stares the two were sending each other.

He made a mental note to check their hands for wedding rings.

* * *

"And here I thought we'd get to have a day where we didn't have to run." Rose gasped, but she was laughing.

"But it does wonders for your heart rate." The Doctor informed her.

Rose laughed harder. "Oh, yes. Amazing cardio, this is."

Somebody screamed, and suddenly a very heavy women fell down right on top of where Rose and the Doctor's hands were joined. Rose went down with the woman, giving an involuntary squeal. The Doctor felt Rose's fingers slip out of his and he stumbled back a little.

"Rose!" He cried, worried.

"I'm all right." Rose called out. "I think she fainted."

"I'm coming." The Doctor tried to fight his way over to her, but the stream of fleeing Brits was like a forceful current, getting in between him and Rose and widening the gap by the minute.

And then they heard the moans again.

"Doctor!" Rose cried out. "I'm stuck, my hand's stuck underneath her!"

"Just hold still! I'm on my way." He shouted, trying not to let his panic show. He had no idea if these undead could infect him, but they could certainly infect Rose… if they didn't tear her to pieces first.

The tide of humanity was sweeping him farther away from her.

"Rose!" He called out, truly frightened now.

"Doctor…" Her voice was far too faint for his liking.

"Rose!" He shouted, his voice cracking slightly. "Rose Tyler!"

There was no reply.

* * *

"We have approximately five minutes before Mycroft leaves…"

"Sherlock, how do we even know he'll let three strangers on board?"

"Because I'll be stubborn."

"Yes, because that worked out wonderfully at Buckingham with the bed sheet."

"Son of a bitch…" Dean muttered. "One of those two is loopy, and I can't figure out which one it is yet."

"Neither of them is insane, Dean." Castiel informed the hunter. "Mr. Holmes is extra-sane, if I may use laymen's terms, and Captain Watson has a perfectly average IQ level and a sound mind."

Dean groaned. Seriously, _his life_…

That was when the man ran up. He had scruffy brown hair that stuck up in a stubborn refusal to bend to the will of gravity, a long coat, and a rather nice pinstriped suit – complete with vest.

"I'm sorry – have any of you seen a blonde girl, human, wearing a red top and a jacket, rather attractive?" The man asked a bit desperately.

Dean frowned. "What's her cup size?"

The man frowned. "Going by human cup sizes I'd say a C."

"Nope. Haven't seen her." Dean shook his head.

Sam promptly gave his brother a smack upside the back of the head. Watson merely raised his eyebrows, and Castiel seemed too busy watching for possible danger to be paying attention.

"You are a Time Lord, then?" Sherlock asked.

"A what?" Everyone except for the strange man chorused. Everyone then proceeded to stare at each other with annoyance.

"A Time Lord." Sherlock repeated.

"Why, as a matter of fact, yes. You can call me Doctor, if you'd like." The Doctor replied, smiling.

"Sherlock– you know what, I don't want to know." Watson said, cutting himself off.

"Mycroft has some rather interesting files." Sherlock said to his companion. "There's this one on a group called Torchwood that's rather interesting…"

Watson rubbed his temples. He was beginning to feel a headache come on.

Sam cleared his throat. "Guys? Zombies? Running? Five minute time limit?"

"That rhymed." The Doctor informed him cheerily.

Sam wondered if maybe this were all some kind of fever dream. They'd ganked some witches last week – had he unwittingly been dosed with something?

"Mycroft will be eager to speak with you." Sherlock informed the Doctor.

"Yes, well, I'm rather not eager to speak with him. I have to find Rose." The Doctor replied. "I'm speaking with Sherlock, I presume?"

"Unfortunately." Watson muttered.

"Mycroft told you about me?" Sherlock asked.

"Well… yes and no. We've met before. In my past and your future." The Doctor waved it off. "Time – it's a confusing ball of wibbly-wobblyness."

"Try me." Sherlock challenged.

"Guys! Zombies! Escaping! Does this ring any bells?" Sam shouted.

"Doctor." Castiel said, frowning. "Doctor Who?"

"Precisely!" The Doctor said, grinning.

Castiel tilted his head, squinting a little. "You are not human." He announced flatly. "Are you another one of my Father's earlier experiments?"

"Hey… you said the girl was blonde, right?" Dean said.

"Yes." The Doctor said eagerly. "Why?"

"She's dead." Dean announced in a tone that was scarily similar to Castiel's. He pointed up at a building.

The others all followed his finger to find a gigantic screen, much like the ones in Times Square, New York City. It was showing different scenes of zombie attacks around the world, including…

"And this was taken today in London. Viewer discretion is advised – parents strongly cautioned."

The scene was similar to many found in horror films, except with ten times the gore. It was decidedly unsettling to see how the shuffling crowd of undead, moving at a slow, jerky pace, came alive when they got their cold hands on a fresh body. There were two women; one on the plump side with awful dyed red hair, and the second with shoulder-length blonde hair and a soft but fit body. The larger woman was clearly unconscious. The blonde girl was not.

There was no sound but she was obviously struggling and probably screaming, her nails tearing at arms and faces as she writhed in the grip of the infected. They tore into her, blood pouring out of her from dozens of wounds. One of the zombies caught a hold of her wrist. The girl twisted and pulled, and then fell to the ground as her arm was literally torn clean off of her body.

She disappeared after that, hidden from view of the camera as the undead swarmed over her like ants.

"Meanwhile, over in Los Angeles, Justin Bieber was attacked while trying to escape in his infamous leopard-print car. The car was overturned and the windows were smashed, and we actually have a video showing how they ate his entrails while he was still alive…"

Everyone turned away from the massive screen, not caring about the overblown preteen idol. The Doctor stood there, his eyes hard and glittering, his entire face a strange hue that was not quite white, but not the normal pink-and-yellow, either.

"My sincere condolences." Castiel offered up.

Watson debated whether or not to put a hand on the man's shoulder.

Dean looked at Sam, who nodded.

"We know who did this." Dean said.

Everyone quickly glanced over at the brothers, except for the Doctor. He turned, slowly, pivoting on his heel, his gaze transfixing. The Winchesters didn't think they'd ever seen a more intense gaze, and they'd been up against the worst that Heaven, Hell, and everything in between had to offer.

"And we know where he is. And how to defeat him." Sam added quickly. "He's hiding out in Scotland."

"Are you seriously asking this man to go on a hunt for a criminal after he's lost his girlfriend?" Watson asked with horrified anger.

"John." Sherlock said warningly.

Watson glared at the Winchesters as he stormed over to Sherlock. The two began whispering.

"This is madness, Sherlock. Are you seriously…?"

"It's much more exciting than hiding out in a bunker with Mycroft. Just think, John – a worldwide infection started by just one man! Imagine!"

"That man is in shock."

"Then give him a blanket."

"Sherlock!"

"John." Sherlock's voice was soothing and brooked no argument. It was the voice of a judge delivering a sentence for which there would be no appeal. "When you were threatened by Moriarty… when he had Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade in his sights… do you think I wanted time to grieve?"

"Sherlock…"

"No. Listen. I wanted revenge. I wanted to make sure that no one was hurt by that spider ever again. This man is the same, John. Look at him. He needs a purpose. Let us give it to him. You can't grieve properly until you've given up the ghost, so to speak, and he hasn't. He's not going to until he gets revenge. Don't you see, John?" Sherlock sounded both pleading and excited. "_He's like me_."

"You know, I am a celestial being." Castiel said, gazing out into the distance. "I can hear you."

Both men ignored him, but Dean looked rather like he wanted to find a hole to crawl into.

Watson stared silently into his partner's face, his gaze soft but steady. "All right." He acquiesced. "But if you think that I'm going quietly, you've got another think coming. We still haven't properly introduced ourselves…"

"You are Captain John Hamish Watson, and that is your flatmate Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only Consulting Detective." The Doctor announced. "I told you; we've met before. Well, my before. Your later."

"What the hell is a consulting detective?" Dean asked challengingly.

"So this man's in Scotland, you say?" The Doctor asked Sam, as Dean and Sherlock began a heated glaring match.

"Yes. He's actually not a man at all, he's…" Sam was cut short as a chorus of moans sounded from down the street.

"Time to run!" The Doctor announced. "This way, I think."

"This way." Sherlock interrupted, heading down an alley.

"I love the running bit." The Doctor said enthusiastically.

"Oh great. Another health nut." Dean grumbled. "Sammy, I think we met your dream man."

"Sam is bisexual?" Castiel asked, confused.

"Son of a bitch, Cas, we have got to get you a course in Sarcasm 101." Dean complained.

Up ahead, the Doctor was saying something about Prime Ministers and… what was that word? Slitheen?

"Not only are we in the middle of a demon-created zombie apocalypse." Dean groused. "But we have to deal with these weirdos."

"I am an angel, and you two hunt various monsters including shifters and demons." Castiel pointed out. "I think that most people would consider us 'weirdos'."

"Yeah," Dean grinned. "But we're the sexy kind."

**Just to clear up any confusion – the zombies in this story are based on the ones found in The Zombie Survival Guide and World War Z by Max Brooks. I found them to be the most believable and scientifically rational version.**

**And before you flood my inbox with hate, no, Rose is not dead. Only an idjit like Anderson would think that. (Yes, I am mixing up my fandom references. Let's see if you can keep up!)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A note of warning – I don't know how often I'll be updating with this, thanks to prepping for college and trying to finish an original novel, but I promise that I will (eventually) get this finished. (Reviews are good motivation for that sort of thing.)**

**I've slipped several references to past episodes from all three television shows in each chapter. Have fun playing I Spy!**

Rose frantically yanked, trying to get her hand out from under the unconscious woman. "Doctor!" She shouted.

"Rose!" His voice was faint and she could tell that he was starting to worry. "Rose Tyler!"

"Doctor!" She screamed. The moans were closer now.

Rose planted a foot on the woman and pushed, trying to extricate herself. She was buffeted on all sides by frantic, scrambling people. "Doctor!" She screamed again.

She remembered a news report about the rising rate of obesity in the nation, and she laughed derisively.

"Wake up, c'mon, wake up." She shouted at the woman, pushing with all of her might.

"Here!"

Someone was at her side, appearing out of nowhere from the sea of humanity. It was a girl, about a year or two younger than Rose, with blonde hair and big blue eyes. "I'll roll her over, yeah?" She said, crouching down and starting to shove the woman.

Rose noticed that they were wearing the same jacket, and grinned. "Marks and Spencer's?" She asked, indicating the jacket with her free hand.

The girl laughed. "Yeah. Real original, aren't we?"

It was a moment of normalcy in a swirl of anxious horror. The girl shoved, muttering something about "fat cows" and Rose pushed with her foot.

The woman rolled onto her side, and Rose yanked her hand free. The girl cheered, and then they both started as they heard the moans.

The undead weren't more than five feet away.

In their shock they let go of the woman and she rolled back over onto her face, and the girl gave a little cry. Rose stared, not sure if she should laugh or cry.

Now the girl's hand was stuck.

The moans came again, deafening, seeping into their very bones.

Rose started to grab the woman, but the girl stopped her.

"No time. Go!" The girl shoved Rose away from the direction of the infected. "Go!"

Survival instinct took over and Rose started to run.

"Motherfucking bastards! You mother–" The girl's angry shouts descended into frantic screams, and Rose swore she could hear ripping flesh.

She had to get off of the streets.

Ducking and weaving, Rose made her way to the door of the nearest high-rise. It was an office building, which was probably a good thing – most people would be hiding out in an apartment building, not staying cooped up in their office. They'd want to find their families, make sure that everyone was okay.

Rose paused, staring at the directory. Should she go to the basement or the roof? Which one was safer?

The zombies hadn't appeared to have much hand-eye coordination, never mind running, so they probably couldn't go up stairs very easily… but they could fall _down_ stairs.

Up to the roof it was.

As she ran up the stairs (she was not chancing the elevator) of the H. C. Clements office building, Rose thought back to the girl. They'd been so alike – liking the same jacket, about the same age… and she felt almost as though she were living a stolen life. That girl had given her life in exchange for Rose's, and Rose didn't even know her name.

Her hand twitched, instinctively seeking out someone that was not there. She had to get out of this mess.

She had to find the Doctor.

* * *

"So who is this person?" Watson asked. "Why'd he start this whole thing?"

"Crowley is not a person, but a demon." Castiel informed him. "One of the most powerful and depraved of Hell's spawn."

"Quite a flair for the dramatics, haven't you?" Watson said lightly.

Castiel tilted his head with a frown. "I do not understand." He confessed.

Watson cleared his throat and concentrated on looking for zombies. They weren't quite out of London yet, and judging by the abandoned cars choking the Green Belt, there could be Zekes (as Dena had dubbed them) anywhere.

But this Castiel person… Honestly, and he'd thought Sherlock was socially impaired…

Speaking of Sherlock…

"How did this Crowley individual start the virus?" Sherlock asked.

"How do you know it's a virus?" Sam asked. "It could be a bacterial infection…"

"It's a virus." Sherlock said decisively. "The infection is not transmitted via fluids, nor is it airborne. It can only be gained through a bite or by getting fluids or blood on an open wound. Infection takes twenty-four hours."

"Let's try this again." Sam said. "How do you know all of this?"

"Observation. You people never pay attention to anything you see, it's like the visual receptors in your brains are broken or something."

"Sherlock," Watson said wearily, "Do me a favor and please don't alienate our companions." He pulled out his phone to check it. "Still no word from Mrs. Hudson. She promised she'd call when she reached her sister's."

"I'm sure she simply forgot. It's rather easy for people to lose track of things when they're panicking." Sherlock said with an air that clearly stated he was not one to panic. "Have you heard from Lestrade at all?"

"No, but it's nice of you to ask." Watson replied.

"Oh, I don't care, I just wanted to know if Anderson was infected." Sherlock said with something akin to glee. "He's practically the walking dead anyway, what with his level of stupidity, but all the same…"

Watson heaved a sigh worthy of any martyr, ignoring the odd looks that everyone was giving his flatmate. "Sherlock, that's rather heartless."

"I'm surprised you still expect anything else by this point." Sherlock replied.

"Kinda reminds you of Cas in the beginning." Sam whispered to Dean.

Dean looked positively affronted that his angel was being compared to the borderline sociopath they were forced to deal with.

"If we could all focus for a moment," The Doctor said, "And get back to the task at hand – are you certain this man is a legitimate demon and not, say, an alien life form?"

"Trust me; we're certain." Dean said.

"You can tell a demon by several subtle but distinctive identifying traits, starting with–"

This time Dean succeeded in getting his hand over Cas's mouth in time to stop the flow of words. The angel's electric blue eyes narrowed, making him look like a rather grumpy cat.

"How, then, did this virus come about?" The Doctor asked. This whole thing would have been terribly exciting under normal circumstances, but under normal circumstances he would have been able to share this with Rose.

"It's a curse, actually." Sam hastened to explain.

Both Sherlock and the Doctor looked rather incredulous. Watson blinked at how scarily similar they both looked. He dearly hoped that the Doctor wasn't too much like Sherlock; one consulting detective was enough to deal with, thank you.

"It's a kind of worldwide plague, similar to the Plagues of Egypt – in fact, it's called the Eleventh Plague, and rumor has it that God once considered raising the first-born sons that He'd taken in the Tenth Plague back from the dead to devour their own families but was persuaded against it." Sam went on.

"That was an interesting board meeting." Castiel noted.

"You guys had board meetings?" Dean asked. "No wonder you had such a stick up your ass."

"Still do, sometimes." Cas said dryly.

That shut Dean up pretty quickly.

Watson pretended he hadn't heard that comment.

"Dean and I are hunters; we basically take down bad guys like demons." Sam said, glossing over their background for lack of time. "Castiel here has been our friend,"

"Friend?" Sherlock asked, looking at Dean.

Both Watson and Castiel grabbed each of Dean's wrists to keep him from punching the detective. The angel and the doctor sent each other _can you believe these two_ looks.

"Friend." Sam said, trying to keep them on track. Honestly, dealing with Lucifer, Mr. Pop Culture References Within Pop Culture References was easier than this group of crazies. (He loved his brother but seriously, Dean was a little crazy.) "Basically we were trying to kill Crowley, this extremely powerful demon that's been a real pain in our asses for the past few years. We knew he was up to something but we didn't know exactly what it was until we cornered him. He started this whole curse thing using a stolen tablet of God,"

"Which he shouldn't have been able to get his hands on in the first place…" Castiel grumbled, like a cat that had its ball of yarn taken away for no good reason whatsoever.

"And transported himself to somewhere in Scotland." Sam finished.

"Transported?" The Doctor asked eagerly. "How did he manage that? He doesn't have something called a TARDIS by any chance?"

"A what?" Dean asked.

"Is that a Time And Relative Dimension In Space?" Sherlock asked.

The Doctor looked about as dumbfounded as the others. "How'd you know that?" He asked.

"Mycroft's files." Sherlock replied.

"Sherlock, when this is all over we are having a serious discussion." Watson warned him.

"About my keeping secrets from you?"

"About you going through your brother's briefcase while he's over for tea."

"You honestly can't expect him to bring it and not have me take a look."

"Yes, I can. It's called being polite."

"Now, John…"

Sam cleared his throat loudly. The two arguing men turned and looked at him with impatience.

"The problem is," Sam continued, as if there had been no interruption, "For some reason Cas here can't transport us to where Crowley is."

"He has somehow managed to block anything from transporting in or out of Scotland." Castiel explained.

"So we have to get there on foot. And when we don't know exactly where he is…"

"I can find out." Sherlock said, cutting Sam off midsentence.

"Oh, really?" Dean said, challenging. "And how would you manage that?"

Sherlock frowned. "I'll need access to a computer – a proper one, not one of those dinosaurs from a library. And some more details about your 'demon'." The last word had air quotes implied.

"Well how are we going to get that?" Dean argued.

"I have state-of-the-art computers on my ship." The Doctor said eagerly.

"Excellent." Sherlock turned to him. "Where is it?"

The Doctor's smile faltered. "Um… it's currently parked in a Henrik's department store in Covent Garden."

Both Watson and Sam groaned aloud.

"But," The Doctor went on, "That's all right."

"No, it's not." Watson muttered.

"We need to get up to Scotland anyway, right?" The Doctor explained. "So why don't we head up there and stop in the nearest town along the way? We'll stick along the coast, fewer people on the east side."

"Where's the first big town?" Sam asked.

"Cambridge." Said Sherlock, just as the Doctor answered with, "Peterborough."

The two men arched their eyebrows at each other.

"You sure you two weren't separated at birth?" Watson asked, not entirely joking.

"Cambridge is a university town." The Doctor argued.

"But Peterborough is farther away, and in a university town there are bound to be laptops everywhere." Sherlock insisted.

The Doctor considered this. "I suppose it would work." He said.

"How are we going to set out when we have no supplies?" Dean argued. "We have no idea how far away this place is."

"It's England, Dean." Sam grinned. "Everything's close together."

"It shouldn't take us more than a few hours." The Doctor estimated.

Dean made sure he had his weapons on him. "There better be a place that serves pie." He muttered as they set off.

* * *

Rose panted as she approached the top floor. How many levels did this company need, anyway? Did they _really_ need two HR departments? And why did that one temp worker's cubicle have so many pictures of wedding dresses?

At least the bloody coffee machine worked. Rose took a much-needed ten-minute break to fix herself a nice, thick cup. She added an extra scoop to the mixture, as well, just to give her that extra jolt to stay awake.

So far, things had gone all right. No undead wandering the halls, no blood smearing the walls, no bodies on the floor. It appeared that Rose had been right in her assumption that everyone had hurried home.

God, that was good coffee. The TARDIS made the best coffee in the universe (and Rose knew that for a fact, because she had tried coffee in 53 million different places), but this wasn't too bad. Not bad at all, in fact.

As Rose set the drained cup down, she could feel her nerves settling. She was certain that everything would work out; it always did, in the end. The Doctor was surely off somewhere finding a way to fix this madness, and she'd be back with him before the day was up.

She hoped that he wasn't worried about her. He always acted like he wasn't but after their ordeal with the Satan Pit and whatever Beast had lurked in there, he'd been awfully protective.

And lately, when she'd tried to press him about what she'd done as Bad Wolf… well, he'd told her about Jack and Bad Wolf and all but he was hiding something; something important. He'd never kept anything from her before.

If he was doing it to try and protect her she was going to punch his pretty boy face until he regenerated.

Feeling rejuvenated and much more optimistic about the circumstances, Rose turned around.

And found herself staring into the barrel of a pistol.

"Don't… move…" The man said. His hand was shaking and Rose could see the frantic look in his eyes. "Are you infected?"

"D'you see the zombies going to get a cuppa?" Rose asked in return.

"Are you bitten?" The man asked. "It can take a while for you to feel it."

Rose took off her jacket and held up her arms, showing the bare, unmarred skin. "I'm all clean, see?"

The man nodded, looking relieved.

"Now what d'you say we put down the gun there, and you tell me your name?" Rose said calmly, placing her hand on the gun and lowering it. "I'm Rose Tyler."

"Rus. I'm Rus." The man said, relaxing.

"That's a nice name." Rose said reassuringly. "Are you alone here, then?"

"No. My mate Steve's here – he's a temp, new, real cut up about it all. And there's Tegan. She's a tough one, she is. A few others, but they're from a few levels down. I don't know them too well."

Rose nodded. "Why don't you take me to them, yeah? We can make coffee, if you'd like. There's plenty."

"Yeah." Rus snorted. "One of the guys here's a real addict. Got his girlfriend on it, too."

Rose nodded politely. "I see. Right." She grabbed some mugs from the cupboard and began to scoop out the coffee grounds.

Once the coffee was made and the milk and sugar procured, Rus led Rose down a few hallways until they reached an inner office, right in the center of the floor. Rus knocked three times, then waited.

"It's me." He told them. "No need to worry, I've picked up a stray."

The door was opened a crack and someone – Rose couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman – peered out. "She clean?"

"She can answer for herself." Rose said. "And she's bringing you coffee so you might want to let her in, yeah?"

The door was pulled open and Rose could see that it was an Indian woman, wearing a crisp suit but with the traditional bindi on her forehead and a small diamond stud for a nose piercing.

"I'm sorry." The woman apologized. She had a London accent but her inflections reflected her heritage. "One cannot be too careful."

"It's all right." Rose assured her. "Mind helping me with this?"

"I'm Tegan." The woman introduced herself, helping Rose hand out coffee to the ten or so people holed up in the office.

"Rose." Rose replied. "Nice to meet you, I guess." She looked around. "Any weapons besides Rus's pistol?"

"I'm afraid not." Tegan replied. "Why?"

An idea was forming in Rose's head, a way for her to help with the situation and possibly be reunited with the Doctor.

"I need your help." Rose said. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I have to get to Downing Street."

"Why would you want to go there? The government's in shambles." A young man with straw-blonde hair and a hooked nose, probably Steve, asked.

"I need to speak with the Prime Minister." Rose informed them. "Harriet Jones."

**Rose Tyler is a BAMF, and anyone who says differently can go to the Daleks.**

**And, to answer your question... yes, this is established Destiel. Nope, I am not feeling guilty in the slightest.**

**You DID know that this was crack, right?**


End file.
